


The Suit of Suits

by lola381pce



Series: Five by Five [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clint/Coulson Trope Bingo, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Stripping, Suit Kink, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson wears suits. Everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. knows that. But only Clint Barton categorises them. </p><p>1. Day-to-day - expensive, bespoke, smart<br/>2. Undercover shitty - cheap, ill-fitting, god-awful<br/>3. Undercover porn - suits and/or tuxedos that gave Barton an instant hard-on</p><p>Number three is his favourite category and one suit in particular...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Suit of Suits

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly the characters are not mine but belong to Marvel - I'm just having a little fun with them.
> 
> The Suit of Suits was inspired by the photos in Empire Magazine for article titled The New Avengers which appeared in 2012. I've added links to the photos within the story.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and if you would like to leave kudos and/or comments that would great. I love to know what works for you.

The first time Barton sees the suit of suits...no, it deserves proper recognition...the Suit of Suits, he ends up face planted onto the floor. It wasn’t his fault, not really. More Natasha’s. Or at least a catalogue of errors by them both. Whatever. It’s probably a good thing. At least it prevents Coulson from seeing his raging hard-on.

It happens like this...

They’re scaring the baby agents by giggling and pushing, trying to trip each other up walking along the corridor. A giggling Romanoff is a terrifying Romanoff. Everyone knows this. If you see it, you have exactly one week before you die. Or is that something else? The Ring? Who knows. At S.H.I.E.L.D. there is a fine line between fact and fiction and even then it’s blurred.

Anyway, the Suit of Suits...

A door opens and out walk Deputy Director Hill and Senior Agent Coulson. Her arm is linked through his with her hand resting on his forearm as they stroll down the corridor looking incredibly hot and badass. Already in fear for their lives, the baby agents scatter like ninepins. Barton swears time goes into slow motion at this point but that’s really all he can attest to as he spends the next few seconds prostrate on the floor, gawping up at Coulson as the pair waft past.

The [ Suit of Suits ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/b041375729d66c697488fa477dd49cd2/tumblr_n851938mqp1tvkra6o1_1280.jpg) is a thing of beauty and Coulson’s tailor should be awarded some sort of Nobel Prize. It’s a gorgeous shade of fuck-me-senseless blue, a bespoke three piece number that fits Coulson in all the right places; broad shoulders, narrow waist, neat ass and seems to shimmer as he moves. Plus it shows off the intensity of his eyes to perfection (his eyes by the way, are framed by those sexy black thick-rimmed glasses he dons occasionally and not often enough). He wears it with a crisp white shirt and a striped blue silk necktie, almost identical in shade to the suit. It’s topped off with a red handkerchief edged in blue that’s been gently teased out of his breast pocket.

Together, they define ‘Suit Porn’ and it is now the benchmark against which all other suits will be measured.

Coulson gazes down at the stunned archer with a tiny smile quirking up at one corner of his mouth, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Making no comment as to Barton’s predicament, he acknowledges both specialists with their surnames and a nod and glides on past leaving the carnage in his wake. About five seconds later Barton responds with “Nuhhhhhh…” but by that time, thankfully, they’ve gone.

Romanoff rolls her eyes and helps Barton up. The truth is, emotionally speaking she’s not any better; [ Maria Hill ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/86e9386499c19fc66db415543d1bb658/tumblr_nh8jxzst9w1qa3emao1_500.png) looked captivating in a body-hugging black leather top, flared at its base and a black pencil skirt with a split to the top of her thigh showing miles of perfect long leg. Both items of clothing accentuated every glorious curve the woman possessed. Romanoff’s just more astute at hiding it in public than Barton.

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

“I know.”

“Fuck!”

“Absolutely.”

Wordless from that point on, they retreat to their rooms and do whatever it is they do to make themselves feel better or at least take the edge off. Barton moans Coulson’s name as he comes in the shower, pressing his forehead into the tiles, his legs barely holding him upright.

 

***

 

The second time, Barton doesn’t fair much better. Fortunately he’s alone in the corridor and Coulson is unaccompanied by DD Hill. Unfortunately, he has no-one other than himself to blame when he falls over the large metal waste bin that inexplicably materialises right in front of him and face dives onto the floor...again. It makes a mockery of his codename.

 

***

 

They say third time’s a charm. Unless your name’s Clint Barton. Then it’s more like eighth time. He’s been fantasising about Coulson and the Suit of Suits since he first caught sight of him wearing the damned thing. His fantasy is simple and pretty much revolves around the specialist stripping the senior agent out of said clothing and the pair of them getting down and dirty performing all manner of enthusiastic sexual feats leaving them both exhausted, satisfied and thoroughly fucked. The sad reality however starts and ends with him jerking off in the shower...alone.

Until the eighth time...

Barton’s finishing his third dessert - what? it’s chocolate pudding, so sue him - when he sees a familiar shade of fuck-me-senseless blue out the corner of his eye as Coulson strides past.

“Barton, with me,” he commands in that clipped not-to-be-fucked-with tone. That voice along with the Suit makes Barton’s cock reach for the skies like a bank clerk during a heist.

Panicking just a little, he chokes on his dessert then follows the senior agent with a rather embarrassing hobble. He’s thankful it’s not a peak chow time so the canteen’s almost empty _and_ that he chose to wear cargo pants when he got up this morning. Afternoon. Whenever.

The elevator doors close and Barton racks his brain for something witty to say. But he’s got nothing. So to fill the silence the said organ feels crowding Coulson against the wall and crushing his lips against his handler’s is an excellent plan. Meanwhile his hand drops to Coulson’s dick to stroke him through the material of the Suit of Suits and thank fuck, they appear to be on the same page; he’s as hard as Barton. Kudos, brain!

His ability cope with any given situation and remain unflappable no matter what has always been one of the qualities Barton admires most about Senior Agent Coulson and this time is no exception. In fact, Coulson appears to be fully on board with the whole face sucking idea going by the moans coming from him accompanied by the enthusiastic tongue fucking that’s currently taking place in Barton’s mouth.

The elevator’s not so sure about any of the events unfolding inside it and lurches resentfully with lights flickering when Coulson grabs Barton’s wrists and turns him around slamming him against the wall pinning him there. Barton’s cock however gives a high five.

Eventually, after copious amounts of making out and handsy teenage groping, they succeed in getting to Coulson’s office. Almost before the lock clicks into place, they’re on each other again kissing like the world’s about to end. It’s noisy, it’s messy, it’s chocolatey and it’s everything Barton hoped it would be times infinity.

“Oh. Thank. Fuck.” Coulson mutters against Barton’s lips, his skin, his teeth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe you didn’t like the suit.”

Much to the older man’s irritation, the archer breaks the kiss pulling away completely to look at him with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s fucking Suit Porn!”

Coulson raises an eyebrow. “Really? Eight times I’ve worn this suit. I figured after your reaction the first time...it was a sure thing. And nothing. Then when you took a header over than bin, stylish by the way, I thought... _this_ time. But nada. So what gives?”

Barton ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, squinting up at his handler (and after they way Coulson fondled his balls through his cargos in the elevator, that word has a _whole_ different connotation for the archer). “I guess my brain finally caught up with my cock?”

Coulson considers Barton’s words for a moment then nods his acceptance. After a brief pause he stares the other man in the eye and deadpans, “So. Are we going to stand around here all day? Or are we going to fuck?”

Barton snorts out a laugh. Paraphrasing aside, somehow Coulson quoting Kingsman to him comes as no surprise. He hesitates though. “Can I…? It’s just…”

Coulson tilts his head to the side and gives him that little half-smile of his along with an encouraging nod. He waits patiently until Barton finally, shyly tells him what he wants. The senior agent’s cock twitches in his pants at the thought of the archer’s hands roaming over him and as much as he wants to fuck, and fuck hard, he loves the thought of having his clothes removed by the other man, item by item. His smile deepens causing those sexy crinkles to appear at the corner of his eyes. He leans forward into Barton’s space and breathes against his ear, “I’m all yours, Specialist.”

Barton closes his eyes and shudders unable to prevent the shiver that rolls down his spine. After one more leisurely and satisfying kiss he proceeds with his fantasy.

Hesitantly, until he receives a reassuring smile from Coulson, Barton raises his hands resting them on the older man’s shoulders. His thumbs stroke the lapels for a moment, gliding over the luxurious material before he slips them inside to skim up the senior agent’s chest, inch by glorious inch. In one smooth motion he keeps going, sliding his hands down the back of Coulson’s arms, pushing the jacket off his shoulders until it drops from his hands. It doesn’t reach the floor though being caught instead by Barton’s swift reactions. It's all carefully calculated having been worked out in his head many times beforehand; he’s just glad it works as well in reality.

He folds the jacket carefully and lays it over the arm of the couch giving it one final touch with the tips of his fingers in reverence. He may never have experienced it in his early years but it doesn't mean he doesn't recognise quality when he feels it. He turns back to Coulson and ducks his head rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously when he sees the senior agent smile.

Coulson holds out his hand to draw the younger man to him. “No,” he whispers holding him in a gentle embrace. “Not with me. Now I know you want this, never be anxious with me.”

Barton might be the larger of the two but right now he seems incredibly fragile in the other man’s arms. He tucks his face into the crook of Coulson’s neck breathing him in, feeling grounded again. He feels safe, he feels wanted, he feels very very horny. He nuzzles Coulson’s neck, his lips pressed against the soft skin just below his ear before his tongue flicks out to lick it. The groan that’s released from his handler goes straight to Barton’s cock making it throb. Suddenly that’s all the archer wants to do; make this imperturbable man come apart beneath his touch.

Coulson’s voice is low and gravelly when he speaks. “I believe you have a mission, Barton. You have a green. How about you get on with it before I come in this suit and piss off my tailor. Trust me, that's something neither of us wants.”

Barton smiles against Coulson’s neck. He gives it another swipe with the tip of his tongue before pulling back. “Yessir.”

His hands are clumsy at first fumbling with Coulson’s tie but after the older man gently places his hand on top of Barton’s and kisses him softly on the mouth whispering “Slowly” against his lips, the archer relaxes and with more confidence, carefully pulls the knot loose. He slides the tie from the collar and wraps it around his hand while the other man reaches up to unfasten the top few buttons of his shirt.

Barton places the tie on top of the jacket and turns back to Coulson. Jesus! He can’t quite make up his mind if the older man looks hotter fully or partially clothed. It’s a close call. They kiss again; it’s hungry and yet remarkably tender. Eventually Barton remembers his mission and regretfully pulls away.

There are five buttons on Coulson’s vest, the bottom of which is already undone. The specialist makes short work of the others. As with the jacket, Barton’s hands slide under the vest and over Coulson’s chest slowly, seductively before he removes the item of clothing. He can feel the other man’s nipples hardening through the shirt as his calloused palms glide over them. He’s not sure if the moan he hears comes from him or Coulson. It’s not really important. Once it’s off, the vest is folded neatly and added to the pile slowly growing on the couch.

Another item, another kiss. It seems to be a reward for every garment he removes. It’s an excellent system. This time the senior agent’s hand cups the back of the archer’s neck as they kiss open-mouthed. If thunderbolt was to strike him right now, Barton knows he would die happy. But fortunately for them both, it doesn’t happen.

The specialist’s brain decides multi-tasking would be appropriate and while the kiss continues, until it becomes impossible, he unfastens the remaining buttons on Coulson’s shirt. When he reaches the top of Coulson’s dress pants he unbuckles the leather belt and yanks it free from the loops, throwing it behind him onto the couch. He carefully sets about opening the pants resisting the almost overwhelming urge to trace the outline of Coulson’s arousal with his fingertips. It’s a supreme effort of willpower and he’s proud of himself for achieving it.

He tugs the shirt loose and completes his objective with the buttons then pulls the two halves apart. He can’t help licking his lips at the sight of the broad expanse of his handler’s chest covered with dark, wiry hair. It narrows to a fine path that trails down his stomach disappearing behind a pair of tight boxer briefs. It’s fucking perfect. Even with all the puckered bullet scars and thin knife scars and healed ragged tears peppering the skin, _he’s_ fucking perfect. Barton just wants to run his tongue and teeth and mouth all over him.

“Fuck, sir, you’re gorgeous.”

Coulson ducks his head and looks up at Barton, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. It really shouldn’t be that adorable. His dick agrees as it throbs to give a reminder of the endgame in this little fantasy. Oh yeah. Down and dirty... enthusiastic sexual feats...exhausted, satisfied and thoroughly fucked.

It’s been successful before and Barton sees no reason to change his method now. In fact _now_ it seems imperative as it’s the older man’s skin he’s going to be touching. Looking Coulson in the eye, Barton’s hands move smoothly beneath the shirt to skim up the senior agent’s naked chest trailing through the hair, brushing over the tight little nubs of his nipples. This time there’s no doubt that the moan comes from his handler. Coulson closes his eyes and shivers, his skin tingling beneath the other man’s touch. His lips part and his teeth pull at his swollen bottom lip.

For Barton the reality is so much better than the fantasy. His imagination didn’t take into account reactions like these and to see the changing expressions on Coulson’s face or hear the tiny hitches in his breath as Barton’s hands slide up to his shoulders, is absolute bliss. As he pushes the material over the hard muscle of Coulson’s shoulders to his elbows Barton takes note of the dusting of freckles over the pale skin. And isn’t _that_ just the fucking icing on the cake. The fine body he kinda suspected / hoped. But the freckles? Oh _fuck_! The freckles!

Coulson’s arms are trapped by the shirt but Barton doesn’t feel nearly as bad as he probably should when he dips his head to his handler’s shoulder and licks across the surface of his skin. He traces the freckles with his tongue and the older man gasps, throwing his head back, arching his spine, muscles straining against the confines of the shirt. A rash of goosebumps breaks out over his skin and he groans Barton's name.

Another burst of willpower prevents the specialist from coming in his own briefs at the response. But it’s a near thing. He’s tempted to keep Coulson confined like this and cover him with marks but perhaps it’s time to move this fantasy on before willpower is no longer enough. His cock is beginning to ache and he imagines Coulson must be the same.

At some point, the senior agent has obviously unfastened his cufflinks (when the fuck did that happen?) and the shirt is removed, almost torn off. Like the belt, it's tossed carelessly onto the couch. Apparently only the Suit of Suits is worthy of special treatment.

This time there’s no finesse with the kiss. It's wet and messy, full of tongues and teeth and gasping breaths. It's perfect. The air in the room has become thick with want and desire; it’s rolling off them in waves. Barton's hands are on Coulson's hips driving him backwards until his back crashes against the door.

Coulson tugs at the archer’s t-shirt. “Off,” he growls into the other man’s mouth. He needs to feel his skin against his own. There's no hesitation. Barton pulls it off and drops it on the floor before pressing himself against Coulson. The kiss remains filthy and the senior agent’s hands are all over the archer's body seemingly everywhere at once; stroking, caressing, kneading every muscle, every patch of skin. It goes on forever but doesn't last long enough.

“Aw fuck!” Barton breathes against the older man’s mouth. “Need… want…”

Coulson obviously needs, wants too. With a typical quietly confident move he flicks open the button on Barton’s cargos with one hand and carefully pulls down the zipper edging the material over the archer’s hips. Almost before Barton realises it, they’ve dropped to his thighs and Coulon’s rubbing him through his briefs. He groans and thrusts up into the the senior agent’s hand.

“Awww fuck! Coulson. Fuuuuuu...”

Anything else he wants to say is lost behind incoherent babbling. In some sort of secret ninja move by Coulson, the briefs have gone the same way as the cargos. The senior agent’s hand is now wrapped around Barton’s cock in a grip that’s relaxed but confident. He begins to stroke the specialist slowly, teasingly while his free hand grips the back Barton’s neck, his thumb brushing lightly over the skin.  A shiver rolls down his spine at Coulson’s touch.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” Coulson tells him, his voice thick and hoarse. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful.”

Barton whimpers at the praise. His hands grasp Coulson’s hips hard enough to bruise but they’re bruises the other man will gladly accept. It’s not that he hasn’t seen Barton without clothes on before. He has. Many times actually but never like this. Never so open, so vulnerable, so completely wrecked. It’s almost too much for him knowing that the archer, _his_ archer, trusts him so completely to let him see it - to let him _cause_ it.

Tenderly he kisses Barton again, tracing the seam of his lips with his tongue until the younger man opens his mouth inviting him in. The tip of his tongue slides along Barton’s gently exploring, savouring the tastes and textures it discovers. It’s shallow and light at first then slowly becomes deeper and more demanding. A heated passion builds between them as Barton kisses him back increasing the intensity of it, moaning into Coulson’s mouth.

Subconsciously, Coulson’s hand is mimicking the kiss. It had started off slow and easy but as the kiss progressed, becoming less controlled and more driven by instinct, so does his hand.

Between the kiss and Coulson’s touch, the archer’s breath is coming in short gasps. He’s getting so close. The pre-come is dribbling constantly from his weeping slit, coating the senior agent’s fingers. Coulson brings Barton to the very edge and before he slows the pace holding off Barton’s orgasm for a few more seconds. He knows another few strokes will tip him over.

“Are you ready to come, Clint?” Coulson’s voice is so gentle. He leans his forehead against Barton's. “Do you want to come for me?”

“Yes,” Barton whispers. “Please.”

In response, Coulson resumes his pace, sliding his calloused palm over the soft skin of his archer’s cock. Barton’s breath hitches at the twist of his hand over the head teasing yet more slick from the tip. Coulson’s calculations are correct and after a few more strokes Barton’s grip tightens on his handler’s hips and he thrusts up into his hand once, twice, three times before his balls tighten signalling his closeness to the edge once again. His forehead presses into Coulson’s before dropping to his shoulder biting down to stop from crying out as the orgasm takes him. His cock spurts over Coulson’s hand and across his stomach painting him with stripes of come. The intensity of it is as much as surprise to Barton as it is to Coulson and it’s only sheer willpower that’s keeping the younger man upright.

“M’sorry,” Barton murmurs into the crook of Coulson’s neck, breathing in his scent. Coulson rubs the back of Barton’s with his thumb again in gentle soothing strokes. His has no idea why Barton feels the need to apologise. Having him come like that was more than the older man could ever have hoped. With a voice broken and raw, Coulson tells him so.

“No. You were beautiful. So perfect.”

He can feel the younger man’s lips curve into a smile against his skin. “Supposed to be fucking. Lots n lots a fucking.”

Coulson breaks into his own half-smile and kisses Barton’s hair tenderly. “Next time,” he promises before giving a surprised grunt. 

Barton’s hand has performed its own covert maneuver and Coulson’s pants have miraculously dropped to his ankles. The aforementioned hand slips behind the senior agent’s briefs freeing his cock from its confines. Barton gently wraps his fist around Coulson's length proceeding to return the favour.

Coulson braces himself against Barton’s shoulders as the younger man’s palm slides up and down his shaft from root to tip. When his thumb swipes across Coulson’s leaking slit, Barton’s rewarded by a groan coming from deep inside the other man’s chest along with a steady flow of pre-come from his cock.

After all that’s gone before, Barton instinctively knows it won’t take long for Coulson to come. And it doesn’t. Maybe half a dozen more strokes before his body tenses under the specialist’s touch. Moment’s later Coulson judders and shakes when he lets go. As Barton had done before him, he drops his head to the younger man’s shoulder gasping as he pulses come over them both.

Body still shaking with aftershocks, Barton wraps his arm around Coulson, hugging him close pressing small kisses against his head.

“So...next time, huh?”

Coulson huffs out a shaky laugh. “I'd still like to see how your fantasy plays out. Especially now I know suit porn’s your thing.”

“It is the Suits of Suits,” Barton agrees.


End file.
